


The taste of wine - Siege-O-ween Oct 29th

by ToDragons



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: I love both and I would die for this ship, I wanted a short story, Like why, M/M, Mike Baker is just old, Olivier Flament is an old soul, Siege-o-ween 2020, Sorry <3, Vampires, and we are already at 16 pages, here i come, i'm officially shooketh, nobody planned this to be multichapter okay, what am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToDragons/pseuds/ToDragons
Summary: Olivier Flament is a Vampire who have been around since the Dark Ages. Mike Baker is a soldier who have been around since 1962. Surprisingly, they have lots and lots to talk about, and maybe... just maybe, they become friends.
Relationships: Mike "Thatcher" Baker/Olivier "Lion" Flament
Comments: 11
Kudos: 11





	The taste of wine - Siege-O-ween Oct 29th

**Author's Note:**

> Don't come after me!! There ain't nothing scary shit here, just me messing with my ships, I swear to God. Okay. Lion is a bit creepy. But it comes from a good place. 
> 
> And I want to thank [Kiki](https://r6shippingdelivery.tumblr.com/) and [Freedert](https://twitter.com/_freedert) for helping me out with the beta-reading as always. I'm at your humble service any time you need me :D <3 You two are amazing in keeping up with the madness that is inbetween my ears. <3 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!!

“I want you to help me die.”

Mike turned towards the man standing on his right, eyes wide with shock. He let his gaze wander, just for a second, on the other. His tall, proud posture, his handsome face, basking in the dim candle light, his gentle, green eyes now looking at him full with hope, expecting help. How could a so-called monster look this innocent, the soldier couldn’t fathom. Why would he want to die? And more importantly, why would he want to be killed by somebody like Mike?

In his wondering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I will.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more. 

Mike shook his head, looking away. _What a waste._

But how did he get into this situation in the first place?

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The Boogie-man. Zombies. Ghosts. Mummies. Werewolves. _Monsters_ . Mike Baker had never really understood them. He understood the concept, and the literature, but he didn’t understand the need. It was just the need to be scared. Or even more, the need to force the fear of darkness into the shape of something understandable. Because that is what all these so-called supernatural monsters were, weren’t they? Just images made by scared children on a moonless night. A howl? A wolf! A growl? A zombie! A mug falling down? Definitely the leftovers of a dead person. Not the wind. _Obviously not the wind._

Mike never said that he didn’t believe that something was hiding in the dark, far from it - being a soldier, facing new threats every other day made him learn that in fact there was always _something_ around the corner, ready to attack. But nonetheless, he was sceptical of the supernatural.

Living in this world for 54 years he never met any kind of supernatural monster that could have been killed with only silver, salt or fire. In fact the only monsters he met were people. People acted way worse then any animal or entity ever could, hurting others and themselves, acting selfish and rude, being agressive and stupid. Obviously not _every_ person, but he was facing terrorists, he believed he had seen the worst of worsts. He had seen men murdering innocent people, he had seen organizations turn children into mindless soldiers and he had seen mothers killing their loved ones and then themselves for the ‘greater good’. He had seen a lot. _Like a lot_. But he had never met any kind of supernatural monster, so yeah. 

He had every right to be sceptical, and ironical, because he did not understand the fear of the unknown and darkness like a normal person did. Howls? There was no werewolf able to sound as a friend dying from an open wound. A growl? The unhappy sound of a terrorist being cuffed. A mug falling down? The reaction to a newly found biochemical weapon. No monsters, just people. Bad-people. 

He started to feel bad for the monsters in books, tv shows and poems at one point. All that screaming, shouting and wanting to capture or kill them… Why were they the ones being chased? That was the other question. Why were the monsters always bad? Why would a werewolf or zombie or mummy or anything attack the human beings, like they did in the stories? To hunt them, taste their blood and eat them and their brains? Oh come on.

The fact that sharks don’t even like the taste of human meat must mean something!

But it could be the blood... All animals had blood, why would a vampire attack _that one_ human being, when they could hunt a calm cow, or something. Much less screaming, much less effort, much easier target.

And don’t even start with the brain bullshit. Why would _anything_ try to eat the brain?! The people mindlessly attacking others for being a little bit different than they are were _empty_ anyway! 

And also, why would a demon or spirit or whatever the fuck attack humans after their life? What if they are stuck and just need help? What if they just want to be friends?!

He believed in ghosts, tho, he did. But not the… ‘the white sheet with two holes for the eyes on it’ kind, obviously. He believed the ghosts of the past. The screaming in his nightmares about the wars, the eyeless people standing behind him in the mirror, the feeling of his mother’s gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Ghosts. 

But not the hollywood ghosts scaring innocent people. His own ghosts. Some of them were bad, some of them were good, even soothing. Mementos of his childhood, his first love, his daughter. Good ghosts, who never wanted to hurt him, in fact most of the time, they helped him in their own way.

And after all… everything started with a ghost.

The ghost of his father.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

When he first noticed the familiar figure, he was in the middle of buying baked beans in the supermarket. He was all alone, thinking about calling Penelope after dinner, to ask where would his grandson want to go this year for a little Trick-or-treating during Halloween, minding his own business with the cans, when he noticed a tall, dark figure just outside the shop’s front window. 

He didn’t even notice it first, but when he felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched, he looked up, right at the dark figure. The long coat, the old hat, the wide shoulders; he caught himself thinking, _Dad…?_ But his father died at least thirty years ago, so yeah. It was kinda suspicious.

He looked around, trying to find out if anybody could see the figure, and as he looked back, the window was empty. 

Strange. 

But the ghost of his father had never been a bad omen. Maybe he should visit his grave. Or perhaps it was a reminder that he forgot to put on his watch this morning, the one that once belonged to his father. 

Shrugging, he went back to pick the beans and that was it. 

Or so he thought. 

Because, not long after this, he noticed the figure again. He was just arriving to his boat after a disgustingly long day of work, ready to open a beer and crash on his couch, when he saw the familiar silhouette from his peripheral vision. He turned his head, but as the last time, the figure was gone.

Mike lifted an eyebrow. It was his father’s birthday coming up soon. Heh. Motherfucker never missed a chance to make people wish him happy birthday after all.

Shrugging it off again, he entered the boat, and did as he planned with his beer and couch. 

  
  
  


But obviously, it happened again. The tall figure standing patiently, just looking at him from afar when he arrived home, bought his supplies, walked down the streets. The well known shadow never moving, never looking like it was alive, never changing. 

He once even noticed the figure standing at the docks, as if waiting for him to get home. It was strange and the feeling of being watched never seemed to disappear. 

The last straw was when he noticed the shadow during the night he was with his daughter and grandson, Trick or treating, having fun. He almost missed it again, the silhouette standing in a dark alleyway just the other side of the road. As he saw the shadow there, Mike got furious all of a sudden. Hanging around, waiting for him was one thing, but bugging him during family times? A real jerk move.

As he noticed, he immediately stopped in his track and turned towards the figure, stepping down the pathway. His gaze was fixed on the figure that looked like its usual, frozen self, but as it noticed his attempt of getting closer, it did the strangest thing: it moved. 

It wasn’t a scared wince or anything a normal human would do when they were discovered doing something bad, it was just a surprised lift of shoulders and a slight tilt of hat, but it was _something_. And as Mike took one more step forward, the figure did the same thing backward. And that was when the good omen of his father turned into a human monster, because who else would follow him around every night just standing still and watching. He had a stalker. One of the most disgusting kind of monsters. 

His instincts kicking in, he reached for his gun, but the second he touched it an ear-rippingly loud car honk pushed him out of his state of mind. He was standing in the middle of the road and a very angry driver just honked at him again.

Looking at the man behind the wheel, Mike sniffed and let his gun slip back into its holster. He glanced back at the figure, but that motherfucker was gone. Of fucking course.

Great.

Not caring for the loud honking at all, he turned back and stepped on the pathway again.

A stalker. 

Glancing back at the other side of the road, he lifted his chin, looking around. 

A ghost? A stalker? A monster, maybe. A human one, who was apparently afraid of him. 

It didn’t matter. It was time to end their relationship. 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Except the figure disappeared. 

Not in the term a ghost would, because Mike still felt like he was being watched, but he didn’t see the silhouette again. It pissed him off, but he was smarter than giving up. Instead, he turned to his team. 

He asked Marius - one of the best tinkerers the world has ever seen in his opinion - to install a few cameras around his boat, so that he can monitor every movement from within his home, and Marius - although a little bit weirded out - delivered. Mike was satisfied, he finally got a chance to get ahead of the mysterious staker, now all he needed to was to be patient and he never had a problem with that. 

He waited for three weeks without seeing the shadow again, but on the fourth Friday, he finally caught it on record. Since the cameras were recording live, and he spent his nights sitting in front of them, he just caught a glimpse of the figure’s coat. It was fucking four in the morning, and he was doozing off before, but the second he saw the movement, he got on his feet and reaching for his gun, he rushed to the exit of his boat, all tiredness forgotten. 

The adrenaline was rushing in his ears as he burst out of the door, gun in hand. It took him just half a second to find the figure in the darkness, then he was already charging towards it, running like he never ran before. 

“Stop right there!” he shouted and again, he caught the figure off guard; it winced from the sudden sound in the otherwise peaceful night. It looked around, trying to find a place to hide, clearly trying to escape, but the old soldier was fast. The moment the figure turned away in an attempt to run, it made a mistake and Mike caught it’s arm in his iron grip. The force of him tugging at the figure efficiently knocked it’s hat off just to reveal a patch of sweaty, ginger hair. He lifted an eyebrow, tugging at the arm again, trying to get a better look, but the figure just seemed to have more than enough of this abuse.

Knowing all too well that trying to slip from Mike’s grip was a useless motion, it instead planted its feet and turning on its heels it kicked the soldier on his side, efficiently knocking the air out of his lungs. Wheezing, Mike immediately let go of the arm, gasping for air. Growling swears he looked at the figure, but it was on the run already, making distance between the two of them. 

Spitting, Mike got himself together, and rushed after the figure. He had been waiting for this fight since Halloween and he wasn’t going to let that motherfucker run away once more. The figure was fast, but Mike was angry, and it made him more dangerous and reckless. He had no problem keeping up with the pace, in fact, he was catching up to the shadow step by step. He was ready to finish this. 

In their chase, Mike kind of forgot to look where he was going, but it didn’t really matter. The only thing in front of his eyes was the prize of finally catching this motherfucking stalker, the changing of landscape around them didn’t matter at all-

Until it did. 

Mike had no idea how, but they ended up in the more abandoned corner of Hereford. There were mostly suburban areas or empty factories on this side of the town. How did they even get here!? He looked around in concern, taking deep breaths. He had _no_ idea, he only started to notice everything around him just now. 

He still had the figure right in front of him, but their distance started to grow as his legs got tired of the running. The adrenaline in his blood slowly faded away, and with that, his energy did too.

He soon noticed himself gasping for air, his sight getting a bit blurry, slowing down, which was- not a problem namely because the figure was heading towards the last building in the line, which turned out to be a… a church? Really? _A church._

Before he could ridicule the shadow in his head, he saw it run straight up the front stairs of the building, and the next thing reaching his mind was the loud band of the door being shut. 

Taking big gulps of air, Mike let himself collapse on the ground, eyes fixed on the building. This might have been the strangest night of his entire life, and it was far from over. Giving himself a few minutes, he just sat there, watching the building, kind of waiting for the figure to escape again, but there was no movement around the church. Odd.

He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and stretched as he stood up. Twisting, he popped his spine and with a low groan he approached the church. He couldn’t see any movement around the door, but as he stepped on the first stair, he noticed how a light had been lit in the window of the church tower. So, there was _somebody_ home.

He pulled his gun out - just in case - and stepped to the door, slowly pushing it in; it wasn’t even properly closed. Holding his weapon as steady as possible, Mike stepped in. It was pitch black. Grimacing, he fished his small flashlight out of his pocket, turning it on. The narthex was empty, only a few old benches left, waiting since god-knows how long, for people who never came. 

Mike looked around and noticed a smaller entrance door. Stepping there, he glanced inside the nave and seeing no movement, he entered. Looking around, he lowered his gun a little. Rows of benches, hand-made pillars, a few old, wooden sculptures of Saints here and there, with their additional little plaques of info. Mike hummed, directing his flashlight at each of them. There was nothing unusual, really just a worn down little church. He didn’t even know that there was a church in this part of the town and he has been living here for a good 10 years now.

Getting deeper into the building, he started to measure the space in his head, trying to find the stairs into the attic. It was a small church so it was not many places where they could hide the way up. His hard guess was behind the main altar, so he made his way there, making sure he was as silent as possible. 

As he arrived into the crossing, he stopped to take a quick look into both of the transept sides, that was when he noticed it. It wasn’t a big thing to notice, but it was strange on its own. On one side he saw an old Virgin Mary, the other held an equally old St. Joseph. Squinting, he glanced back at the other sculptures in the nave. All of them were old, but otherwise clean. The benches were left to rot, but every statue was in the best shape, not a single part missing or paint being spotty.

“What the fuck?” Mike heard himself whisper, but glanced in the direction of the main altar. The Jesus there was in the best shape possible. Mike shook his head, and stepped up to the main altar. He glanced at the sculpture, tilting his head a little. “Listen, if he is just a strange fan of mine I won’t hurt him, but otherwise… I can’t promise you anything. Don’t come after me later, okay?” with a smirk, he shook his head. Always an atheist. 

Behind the altar, he noticed a small door, hidden from even the front rows. Getting more and more relaxed in this _very_ strange situation, he lowered his gun completely as he entered the small door and there he found it. The stairs to the attic! According to the soft lights at the top of the stairs, he found what he was looking for. 

He switched off his flashlight and started to climb still as silent as possible. He was about… 99,9% sure the stalker knew about him, but still. This time, he wanted to be the one hiding in the dark.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

He was around half of the stair when he heard some kind of a rustling under his boots. He froze in the middle of his movement - not wanting to be heard -, and looked down in a slight panic. Squinting, he leant down; a plastic bag? _Okay, what now?!_

He gently stepped off the bag and lifted it up in the weak light of the staircase. Mike’s eyes rounded as he recognized the object in his hand. It was a very strong bag with rows and rows of writing printed on it, informing the handler about the date, the place and the type of blood. 0-. Mike closed his eyes and opened them again, hoping that the plastic bag would… maybe miraculously turn into fairy dust and butterflies, but the plastic bag remained. Normally he was okay to see this bag, it was a useful little object, you know, saving lives here and there, but- _this one was empty._ Why the fuck was it emtpy, it was _clearly used_ before. He glanced up at the top of the stairs. _Okay what the fuck._

Taking a gulp of air, he stuffed the bag in his pocket and continued his way up. As he got to the last few steps, he first noticed a door on top of the stairs, and it being slightly open, he heard a soft sound. Stopping yet again, he tried to concentrate, and soon could make out the sound of fabric rustling and gentle tones of a piano. 

Getting more and more confused, he finished his journey up, lifted his gun in front of himself, and without knocking or giving any warning, he burst into the attic, just to be greeted by a pair of green eyes fixed on him. He lifted his eyebrows. He has seen this look somewhere, but he couldn’t, for the love of god, tell where.

The eyes belonged to a - very - handsome face of a young man. He had elegant and sharp features, with a bit of arrogance hidden in his posture. He was without a doubt attractive, but Mike couldn’t care, because the young man had locks of ginger hair on his head, and who had that as well? His dear stalker. So he pointed the gun at the other, who was annoyingly calm. 

“It took you long enough to get up the stairs. Might be the age,” said the stranger, with an amused little smirk. He looked away, down to the table and reaching out he poked on the phone laying on the surface. The soft piano stopped. “I started to get worried.”

Anger building in him, Mike gritted his teeth. “Who are you? Why are you following me? What do you want? What the fuck is this?!”

The stranger smiled at that, looking back at him, never noticing the gun. “My name is Olivier Flament. I have been following you, because I need to ask you a favour. I would like to ask for your help in an important matter. As for what… I believe this is my home.”

Struck by the strange honesty of the other Mike blinked a few, lowering his gun just a tiny bit. “What matter? Why were you following me?”

“I told you, I need your hel-”

  
Mike cut in. “Why were you following me everywhere for almost three months?”

The man fell silent, he glanced at the table. He almost seemed… shy? 

“Spit it out!” Mike grumbled, making the other look up. His posture might have been calm, but his eyes were like the sea before the storm. 

“I didn’t know how to approach you, see my lifesty-”

“So you decided to follow me, even with my family and when I try to catch you, you run? Almost not suspicious.”

Olivier looked at him for a few long seconds, trying to figure him out. It has been harder than he planned so far, and if he didn’t play it cool, he would get into a deep problem. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you, but-”

“Oh you didn’t scare me.” Mike lifted his gun, pointing straight to the other’s head. “You made me _angry._ ” 

The young man turned his head down, now looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to. I would never hurt you or your family, I swear to God. I need your help. Please, just listen-!” 

Mike watched him, standing there, one hand on the table, leaning there a bit, trying to move away from him. He noticed something… inhuman in this man, something otherworldly. The posture, the face, the eyes… It was so strange. Not unpleasant, far from it, just odd.

The soldier lowered his gun a little, and took the plastic bag out of his pocket, throwing it in front of the other. “What is this crap?”

Looking down, Olivier hummed. “That’s my favourite. I probably had the same type back in the Dark Ages, and now I find it delicious.”

Mike’s grip on the gun tightened. “Quit the jokes, mate!”

The young man didn’t answer, he just glanced to the left. Following his eyes, Mike looked away, just to see a little fridge. It had an open cooler bag in front of it, what had about 10-15 similar blood packs in it. He looked at the man again, grimacing in disgust. “You are sick.”

The other shook his head. “I am really not. Don’t think that I enjoy drinking human blood in particular. It is not a very exciting diet after 800 years, but it does what it needs to, and still better than starving, or hunting and hurting the innocent.”

Mike glanced at the bags again, and then back at the man standing in front of him. “If you tell me, you are a fucking vampire, I will vomit.”

The sides of Olivier’s mouth pulled up into a gentle smile, and crossing his arms in front of him, he nodded. “I suppose… my secret’s out.”

“You are joking!” Mike blinked. 

Olivier shook his head with that amused little smile. “No. And you didn’t vomit. Surprising.”

The soldier shook his head. “You are crazy!”

“Says the man who chased another through a town, gun held high, ready to murder.”

With an unamused grimace Mike rolled his eyes. “You should be happy that I’m just holding my gun and not using it.”

“Not to sound too smart, but that wouldn’t do too much harm on my body. See, this is the problem. As far as I know, I’m pretty undestroyable.” 

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Olivier nodded. “If you would like, I can show you,” before finishing, he already reached for a letter opener on his table. It looked sharp, and he held it out for Mike to see, then without a heartbeat, he pressed the edge into his own palm. 

For reasons unknown, Mike immediately reached out, to catch his hands before he could hurt himself, but confusion hit him even more, when there was not a single drop of blood coming out of the wound. In fact, the raw flesh - or at least what was supposed to be the raw flesh - did not look the way it was supposed to look like. It was not red and healthy, but grey and… there wasn’t any blood. _Not a single drop._

Mike slapped his palm across his mouth, and shutting his eyes, he took two steps back, turning his face away. There was no blood, there was no smell, there was _nothing_. Nothing human. What the fuck. Now he felt like vomiting. He looked up at Olivier. “What the fuck is… What!?”

The man looked at him and humming, he put down the letter opener. He picked up a piece of fabric, wrapped it around his hand. It didn’t really serve any purpose other than hiding the disturbing wound from Mike out of pure sympathy. It wasn’t an easy thing to see. “You seemed very confident in yourself just a second ago.”

“Fuck.” With a huge sigh, Mike held back his dinner, and taking a deep breath he adjusted his posture. “Okay. Okay. Let’s pretend, for a second, that I believe you. What do you really want? What kind of help do _you_ need from _me_? Do you want to eat me, or something? That is why am I here?”

Hearing this, Olivier suddenly seemed annoyed. “If you would just calm down a little, I would tell you everything!”

“Get on with it!” Mike shouted suddenly, with his gun held up again.

The man- or vampire- or what the fuck stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes helpless. He bit his bottom lip and turned his head down again, lifting both his hands in a soothing motion. “Please... “ he glanced up at him again, almost scared. “I know exactly how this sounds, alright? But I… I don’t want to cause harm to you, I swear. I wanted to introduce myself to you, but I have spent the last… forty-something years of my life being in- being alone, and I had no idea how to approach you! This is the truth, I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you, you are not my type! I do not even enjoy hunting humans, all that screaming and blood and waste…” Olivier shook his head slowly, looking Mike in the eyes. “I swear. I don’t want to eat you, I don’t want to harm you, I’m more than happy with those bags. I genuinely need your help!”

With jaws clenched, Mike watched his every move, considering his options. He slowly lowered his gun, and side-eyeing the vampire, he turned around to observe the surroundings. It was a way of getting used to the situation, and also it was a test of the other. He wanted to see how Olivier reacts to him in his own home, if it could even be called that. With a frown, he looked around.

The attic was spacious, with a few smaller windows built into the roof. It was divided into two, a smaller room, which reminded him of an office, that was where they were standing. It had a heavy, old table - Olivier waiting patiently beside that - pushed under a window, close to the wall, an equally old leather chair, a few cabinets with papers, candles, smaller and bigger containers, a small, locked chest, and other unusual stuff piled on them and the fridge with the fantastic blood bags in it. 

The other half of the attic was just behind Olivier. Not knowing what to expect, Mike looked around. He didn’t see a bed or a coffin or anything where somebody would be able to rest comfortably, but he had a hard guess that Oliver - if he was truly what he said to be - didn’t really need sleep. However he saw an old couch and two nice armchairs in front of a- a- a bookshelf. Well. A bookshelf was a very, _very_ weak expression. It wasn’t just one bookshelf, he saw at least three or four of them, and each one was stacked with books. And not just the shelves, no, there were books everywhere. _Everywhere._ It looked like a motherfucking library over there. Piles of books behind the couch, around the armchairs, stuffed into the window slots, put on the beams and around the columns. It was so messy, yet amazing, Mike couldn’t help but let an amused little snort out. 

He looked back at Olivier, who was still standing next to the table, waiting for him, without a single movement. He didn’t take a breath, he didn’t blink. Sniffing, Mike lowered his gun completely. “A vampire?”

Olivier nodded.

“How old are you?”

“As far as I remember, I have been turned-” he hummed. “ around AD 750-850.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘around’?”

Olivier cleared his throat, looked away as if he was embarrassed. “We didn’t really have birth certificates back then and my memory is kind of blurry from a 1200 years of perspective, don’t judge me.”

Mike hummed. “Is this your real name?”

“I have been called many names over the years, I don’t know if you have noticed, but it’s sort of suspicious if somebody uses a name for 1200 years, but don’t worry. For those who I wish to get close to myself I am Olivier Flament, yes.”

“Why are you talking like this…? I’m a simple man.”

“Then you might know that old habits die hard.”

Not being able to hold back, Mike smirked at that. “Touché.”

Olivier nodded gently. “Would you like to ask anything else?”

“Who turned you? Are there more of you?”

Looking away, Olivier started to fidget with the phone - actually an iPhone - on his table. “I don’t really know who turned me and I don’t know about the others. To be honest, I don’t wish to have any connection with them anymore. I have had enough, especially since the so-called “Dracula” figure ruined our reputation in popular culture.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Mike almost burst out laughing. “You are- you are hurt by the movies?”

“Since they tell false facts, obviously yes.”

“Why don’t you correct them, then?”

Now it was Olivier’s turn to lift his eyebrow. “And how do you expect me to do that? March over, knock on the silver gates of Hollywood and say ‘Excuse me, we do not actually sparkle under the sunlight, says me, an actual vampire!’ or what? I’m not a fool. As soon as I tell the humans what I am, there would be one of these two options: one, they would want me to turn them into vampires as well, for the fun of living forever, or the second, they would panic as the herd of animals they are and chase me until they either catch or kill me. Not like they would succeed in any of these options, but it’s easier for me to just lay back in silence and busy myself with the old knowledge of the early ages.”

Mike, taken aback, just shut up for a few seconds, lifting his palms in a protective gesture, but it was for the looks only. He somehow did not feel the need to protect himself anymore, in fact, Oivier reacting so seriously to a simple joke put him at ease. He liked it here, and he found himself being interested in the other. It was still a far-fetched idea, and he was still 60% sure that he will wake up on the ground in his boat, with a few empty bottles of whiskey around him, but this wasn’t so bad after all. The vampire seemed almost nice, and he was never really down to judge at the first glance, so why not wait and hear him out?

Noticing his own rambling, Olivier fake-cleared his throat again and turned down his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I assume you have been saving this up since a very long time.”

“Indeed.”

With a small, amused smile Mike shrugged. “It’s okay. But if you don’t want to tell people what you are, why tell me?”

“I have heard about you before, and I trust that you won’t tell my secret to anybody. I believe you could help me with my problem. I know it is very hard for you to understand my reasons and drive, but I put my trust into you.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “What do you need my help for?”

“I want you to help me die.”

Mike turned towards the man standing on his right, eyes wide with shock. He let his gaze wander, just for a second, on the other. His tall, proud posture, his handsome face, basking in the dim candle light, his gentle, green eyes now looking at him full with hope, expecting help. How could a so-called monster look this innocent, the soldier couldn’t fathom. Why would he want to die? And more importantly, why would he want to be killed by somebody like Mike?

In his wandering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I don’t enjoy murdering people, but if you have a good enough reason I will. But you have lots and lots of explaining to do before we get to it.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more. 

Mike shook his head, looking away. _What a waste._ He didn’t like the idea of killing the other. He kind of started to like him in a very twisted way, but he understood why somebody would want to die after 1200 years of living in the dark.

Olivier stepped closer to him, offering his hand gently, a smile as bright as the sun.

Mike glanced away with a low sigh. “What have I gotten myself into? Mike Baker, by the way.”

“I know!” with a soft laugh, the vampire shook his hand. “I told you, I have heard about you. And as for what… Let’s just sit down, and let me tell you my story first, okay?”

Stepping back a little, Mike looked him in the eyes. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay. You can start with how you know me.”

Olivier nodded, and stepped into the other part of the attic, gesturing towards one of the armchairs. “Have a seat.”

Mike put his gun on the big table and followed Olivier into the ‘living-room’. He looked around a bit, observing the piles of books here and there and with an amused smirk, he sat down. The armchair creaked under his weight and he frowned. “How long since you invited anybody here?”

Olivier looked at him, sitting down on the couch. “This is a fairly new place for me, truth to be told, I have only lived here for about ten years. But in the term of having interaction with humans and other vampires… It’s been just about thirty years or so. I prefer being alone.”

Nodding, Mike kicked off his shoes and put his legs on top of a strong pile of books. Olivier rolled his eyes with a smile, but he didn’t say anything. “So,” Mike began. “Why me?”

Fidgeting with his fingers, the vampire looked away, and then back at Mike. “I knew your grandfather, and also your dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://todragonsart.tumblr.com/)! Let me know if you have any thoughts! <3


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